Friday, December 06, 2013

Straight From The Angels

Knot Hole
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis

—James Lee Jobe, Davis

The light doesn't pay any attention to you.
Not even a little. The choice of what to be
was always yours, and still is. Even now.
The end, the beginning; those are concepts
hardly worth attention! The difference
is between having and being.
It is your choice. On this side,
our side, you don't have peace;
you are peace. You don't move
into the light; you are the light
or you're not, and remain dark.
Alone. Where you are,
you can see the light, and be warm,
but you're not a part of it.
You'll struggle and suffer,
but you get children, and that's worthy
of a struggle, you get a lover to hold,
you get a direction to move in, to grow,
and a name that is just for you.


—James Lee Jobe
The two angels met at the time clock; one was
punching out for the day, the other was punching
in for the night shift.

"Hi, Frank. How was our human today?"

"Hard day today, Mike. The boss was on his
ass all day. He had a flat going home and it was
over 100 out there. He's not getting any younger,
you know. He doesn't know it, of course, but I
made a tractor-trailer rig get off on the wrong exit
just so it wouldn't scare him while he was changing
the tire. I tried to cheer him up a little, too. Favorite
songs on the radio. I got his wife's angel to make
her think of meat loaf for dinner; he loves that."

"You're a good angel, Frank. I mean it. You really
try to help. I'm always proud to share somebody
with you."

"Same here, Mike. How many does this guy
make now?"

"Oh gee, I never counted. Over 50 I guess. But
they all had good lives. What's our guy doing now?"

"Watching the Angels game on TV. Hey, tomorrow
morning don't tell me what happens, ok? I'm
recording it."

"OK. I'm an Angels fan, too. Maybe I'll send him
a good dream later. Any ideas?"

"Fishing with his Dad when he was a boy. He
loves that one."

"Good idea, Frank.  I'm on it. See ya in the morning,

"See ya, Mike. By the way, he's off tomorrow.
Make sure he doesn't forget and set the damn
alarm clock anyway. He could use the sleep."

"Got it."


—James Lee Jobe

I will die one day
Right here in this valley.
Don't be sad.
The sky will slide open
Like a bathroom mirror
And kind angels
Will guide me home.
With an angel of God
To hold me
I will rise
Through golden light!
To you it may seem
Like just another beautiful
Valley sunset.
And excellent!

And you'll be right.

—Photo by Katy Brown

—B.Z. Niditch, Brookline, MA

Never ever expected
to visit a confounding earth
on roads of poets and prophets
changing sun and moon days
smiling away the tears
in the desert of a thousands songs
but knowing I've spoken to stars
under a full sack and sleigh of sky
of angels who visit by the humblest
doves, donkeys, roughcast caves
where time was reborn
tented under palms
this rascal Best poet
sleeping in the desert
with dried figs and dates
with centuries under him
in angel expectation.


—B.Z. Niditch

An angel moment may occur
at any reality moment
as in the abstract life
of the Russian icon painter,
next door
who is a renaissance guy
a man with sketches,
musical scores,carvings
as we uncover
fringes and fragments
of letters
and drawings
he leaves around for us.
At all times of night
through the tint doors
of the kitchen
light beams
at all hours,
an enigmatic figure,
the angels visit his icons
who creates for a Beat poet
abstract art and still life's.


—B.Z. Niditch

If you had no flat feet
but the Angel Michael's wings
at your first marathon,
reflexive from miles
these cold breaths of love
would give you victory
as a scalloped shadow
along a long stretch
of many miles without defeat
in your marked confusion
under the sky breaking
echoes at the last mile
yet feeling a century's wound
by the angel's absence of distress
my belief to willingly compete.


—B.Z. Niditch

A nightmare tried to dislodge me

under an open sky at peace

camping out by roads

of slippery paths

my soul stretched out

in the desert by migratory birds

my memory awoke 

to a majestic fertile light,

warm angel words slip away

filling the fields with breath

not alone but in the darkness

expecting a soothing lamb

among the juniper to feed me.

Old Equipment
—Photo by Katy Brown


—B.Z. Niditch

You float near misty coves

as blossoming waters thin out

into a angelic transfixed light

and recede below waves

on this extended riverbed,

wishing to surface all night

hearing a familiar voice rise

across a guarded, scattered tide

holding onto bit of branch

in the flooded season

you reach over the undertow

stretching your arms

to imagine any rescue plan

in your swimming lessons

with unrelieved power

and miraculous wonder,

you head for shore

toward the marooned sandbar

tasting angel wings of  sunlight

warming your chilled back

grateful as you crouch

by the still rocky shoreline

holding your hands high

toward the advent sky.


—B.Z. Niditch

An unsigned student visa
left on the coffee table
by your aunt's opera glasses,
a sighting of Salinger
lost to all appearances
at first light,
grief that will come of nothing
her likeness waiting for the dawn
an owl stumbles on the wind
by two foreign bodies of water
near a red spotted sports car
wanting to survive
a joy ride to celebrate
years that trickle by
giving yourself sunshine
in a landscape's absence
on transparent miles of travel.


—B.Z. Niditch

Everyone has a pulse
or hunch to echo in miracles
for an angel sign
just like a domino of words
that he whispers to us,
interrogates language
passes on unspoken justice
from hidden pirated passports,
we seek a translation's rapture
for our poet's enlightenment
on the pale horizon.


Today's (Tomorrow's) LittleNip:

DECEMBER 7, 2013
—Michael Cluff, Corona, CA

Seventy-plus years is a long time.
At Pearl Harbor there was a crime,
the attack took away innocent lives,
made many a widow out of wives.
War is never a pretty game—
no matter the time, it remains the same.
Life is more important than nationalized dirt;
understanding diverse philosophies is better than inflicting hurt.
Be it Japan, Syria, North Korea or Afghanistan,
the places change but not the inflexible fate of man.



Garden Lighthouse
—Photo by Katy Brown
[A lighthouse is a kind of angel, yes?
Be sure to check Katy's photo album of 
Lake Huron on Medusa's Facebook page,
including the beautiful lighthouse that 
guards that coast!]